


Like the Dawn

by moz



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, POV Solas, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz/pseuds/moz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas struggles with his feelings for Evelyn and panics when she asks to speak with him alone.</p>
<p>Inspired by the song "Like the Dawn" by The Oh Hellos</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> _"you were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you_   
>  _and you will surely be the death of me"_

Solas loathes to admit it, but sometimes he forgets things. He pulls at the memories of his past, little things that he thought he'd never forget, but he _has_.

Solas sighs, heavy and tired. This is why he distances himself from her. He forgets things when she's around. She steps into a room, and the past melts away. But it shouldn’t. It _can’t_.

“Solas, may I speak with you a moment?” Evelyn asks.

_No, you may not_ , he wants to say. Being alone with her is distressing. He worries about losing that small buffer of others to prevent any accidental intimacy (although he knows himself too well to truly claim it as accident).

Solas swallows the nervous lump in his throat and follows her to the outskirts of camp.

He watches her as she moves through the trees. Evelyn steps over roots without even looking, as if this place is her home and all its trappings are familiar—but it isn’t. She is a human. From Ostwick. A walled city where trees are as rare as griffons.

But Solas knows why he has never seen her fall, why her movements flow like water. It is her natural grace, her ease of elegance and poise, _nimble fingers as she works them through her soft hair—_

No.

He is doing it again (he shouldn’t, absolutely should _not_ ).

“Solas.” She turns into a little grove where the camp firelight disappears, but the moon shines enough to see the outlines of her lovely—no, _regular_ , average, completely unnoteworthy—features.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” he asks. His voice cracks ever slightly.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you for a while, but I never had the chance,” Evelyn starts, and he can feel his throat tighten.

She has noticed. Solas knows it, he can _feel_ it. Her posture is so stiff, like speaking with him is an important meeting that needs her full authority.

It is all his fault. Every look that lingered a little too long, every smile, every whisper (yes, he has whispered to her ear in crowded rooms on numerous occasions even though he knows not to). Solas has been too obvious, even though his mask has been perfected for literal _millennia_ , but such is her effect on him.

She wants to see past his facade, and he lets her. He _wants_ her to see.

Evelyn takes a deep breath and tells him of her worries with the mark in her hand.

His chest falls after listening to her troubles. It has nothing to do with his subtle affections, but his mark which burns in her palm. Solas nods and pushes away the hint of disappointment, and he analyzes her situation.

As she listens to his (somewhat dishonest) hypotheses, Evelyn tucks some hair behind her ear and steps closer. So close, in fact, that he catches her lightly floral scent and his mouth goes dry.

Her eyes are so bright as she nods with rapt attention, so absorbed in his bland explanations.

“Do you think I’ll be okay?” she asks. The question is quiet, her voice teetering on the edge of fear.

“I cannot be sure,” he replies and notices the stillness (and closeness) of her frame. “But you have survived much, Inquisitor, despite nearly impossible odds.”

It’s not a lie. He has assumed her dead several times since meeting her—only to be wrong again and again. Such is her strange enigma, that constant unpredictability of her very spirit.

Evelyn closes her eyes a brief moment before meeting his gaze again and smiling. “Thank you, Solas.” She places her hand on his arm, and the warmth of the gesture freezes him.

“I will help you as long as I am able,” he says. It’s unusual for Solas, but her worry concerns him. And it is _his_ fault, after all, for why she slowly dies by his own magic.

“I know.” She’s still smiling, and her hand stays on his arm. Her fingers curl around the cloth of his robes, and he swallows.

“If I wasn’t...” Evelyn begins.

He holds his breath waiting for her to finish. Her tone has changed completely. Something softer, warmer—it’s the voice she uses whenever she whispers back into his own ear.

Evelyn’s hand plays with the fabric of his clothing, and she no longer meets his gaze. He would hold her if it weren’t for everything. If it weren’t for the mistakes he cannot forget, the world he destroyed, the people he lost. He would hold her and help her, kiss her and make her laugh.

But he can’t.

So instead, he stands there stiffly and awaits whatever she has to say (ignoring the tiny hope growing in his mind).

Evelyn only sighs and smiles again. “They’re probably wondering where we are,” she remarks. She releases his arm and steps away without looking back.

But this time Solas doesn’t follow.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song ["Like the Dawn" by The Oh Hellos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ru7wWGd9LvI). It's a lovely song that's definitely worth a listen. :)


End file.
